Archived threads in /tg/ - Traditional Games - 4396. page

Gets soft retconned.

>>44315176
WHFB already has a UBBEG.

Morgoth nor Nagash share power.

>>44315176
He besmirches the good name of bludgeoning weapons

>>44315172
>far right
would fuck

>>44315172
for just a pencil and pen, like $10. With color, maybe $20

>>44315185
Holy fuck dude control yourself.

>>44315172
$10/character for something really nice

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I'm afraid I can't help you there. I've roleplayed in a Digimon setting before, but not with that system, though it seems like a great choice to me.
Got any questions regarding story, or do you have that all figured out?

>>44315264
Not sure on the story yet, I figured I would try to find a system before I start looking for plot hooks. Thought I'd might like to set it in a Digimon World 2 setting with the guilds and shit.

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>>44315079

Mechanical questions first.

1. There are, in fact, dice rolls for taking shots. I dunno why this wasn't clear, but here's how it works: Suggest a general course of action, roll a d100 for each shot you want to take, and any non-contradictory plans will be used. The result, followed by any modifiers, is converted to a percentage value rating how well it worked.

Post numbers can contribute to this, with varying effects.

2. Reloading USUALLY does not waste ammunition. Your rifle has an internal magazine, so as far as I can determine, you load in one bullet at a time, and can shoot off as many as are in it before needing to do so again. There is no reason that you would empty it before loading in new rounds, so reloading your rifle (assuming mundane means, magic may work differently) will never result in ammunition going to waste. Normally, the same applies for your pistol; no reason to discard a magazine just because you ran low. However, in combat, as it has a detachable box magazine (the default thing most people think of when reloading a pistol), you can choose to drop your magazine for faster reloading; if you don't pick it up after, that WILL waste ammo, assuming that the magazine wasn't dry, and even if it was will prevent you from having as many fast reloads if you find ammo after doing so, until you get back to base and can reoutfit yourself.

General concerns:

Multiple choice things like if we had magic or better mundane gear will in fact be altered to the suggestion presented, for clarity.

Options will hopefully be a bit fluffier in future.

Our character should be more 'present' so to speak this thread; the last one was partially me being new to QMing and partly that up until the monster the team ran into was dead there wasn't a lot of room for dialogue. Now things have settled some, expect more.

And with that.... VOTES CALLED, WRITING.

You nod shakily, managing to make your way over to the wall before you collapse on the ground, facing away from both corpses. You've seen people die before, but getting chopped in half with a sword? That wasn't something you were prepared for. The adrenalin rush you're just now starting to come down from doesn't help - your hands are cold, trembling, and you still feel like you need to throw up. Sometimes coming out of a fight is worse than being in one, and this is one of those times; it's just now starting to hit you that Sam died screaming her life away to something that should never have existed and ohgodthatcouldhavebeenyou. Should have been you; you ought to have been hurt far worse than you were.

/"What if I am?"/, you think, realizing that you haven't actually looked over yourself yet. For a moment, the chill in you isn't all old as you're gripped by a sudden suspicion that the amulet you thought saved your life is just keeping you from knowing you need to patch yourself up, nearly throwing you over the edge into blind panic before you manage to get a grip again. A quick patdown (with the amulet off) confirms your initial thoughts, though - you're bruised and battered from being flung into a stone wall by something the size of a van, but otherwise unhurt, and it's with a sigh of relief that you slip the carved disk of bone back around your neck, tucking it out of sight beneath your armor once more. You're not sure why, but you get the feeling you ought to keep it out of sight.

>>44315699
That done, you look over your rifle, reloading it in the process. There's no way it should have left injuries like that in whatever it was you just killed, not with its sheer bulk and the obvious armor underneath the naked muscles and fat. But despite the clearly unusual results, it doesn't seem any different. Maybe the thing had some kind of freaky magic lead allergy or something? But Davey's shotgun was doing almost nothing to it. Still, you don't have any real way to test it properly (aside from shooting the corpse and seeing if the same thing happens now that it's definitively deceased), so for now you reluctantly file the discrepancy away under 'Weird Shit'. You get the feeling that that's going to be a long, long, list by the time you make camp, much less get back to base.

Despite that, you're feeling better now - more grounded, centered - and you stand back up, rifle casually aimed at the chest just in case something ELSE happens, since that seems the likeliest source of trouble. You note that Doc and Davey have stripped both bodies while you were waiting. "...We want to open that up, or what?", you ask quietly, voice steadier now. It's pretty clear what you're talking about, given that the chest is the only thing in the room.

"Want t'? Hell nah, we don't want t' open up th' bloody thing," Davey replies, shaking his head. "Nah wi' Sam cold on th' ground like she is. Or did y'forget who took care of th' traps?"

You flush, embarrassed and angry, but before you can reply, he continues.

"Doesn't mean we're nah goin' t' though," he says gruffly, stepping over to it and carefully hooking his shotgun under the latch; a moment later, you duck instinctively as what looks to be an arrow flies out of the wall, lodging itself in a crack in the stone right about where your head was. Inside are flasks, strangely colored liquids swirling and seething in them, a few knives, and what looks like -

"- Gold fucking coins?", you spit out, baffled.

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>>44313927
End of last post was

That just leaves the daywalker in the centre. Who is no longer there.

Where did they go?

There’s no power to be found in the dressing room, which makes you worried. You…

>1. Check the dressing room.
>2. Leave the tower now, before much more attention arrives.
>3. Ignore the dressing room but interrogate one of the nightwalkers that Lynn and Gnome didn’t kill (yet), they might know where Lady Rorek is.

I've already counted the votes from last thread, so you don't need to vote again.

>>44313965
>ThisWasTerceBeforePackaging.jpg
It's an accurate filename, no?

>>44313984
>1. Check the dressing room.

>"You know, you're supposed to keep the blood IN you,Waise. You'd make a shitty vampire"
Blackwater after Saul destroyed half of the vampires in Taour

It's a GM who has good intentions but is ultimately hurting his own game.

>>44313902
>everyone is happy

Good GM.

>>44313996
This. I'd think that using a different system would benefit him though

one, assuming he can get access to a single nuke

>>44313857

One, if you go buy 40k fluff.

Several thousand, if you go buy actual physics.

>>44313901
I would like to buy one whole physic. I will write a check in dimmadollars.

With you also was Raymond, the heir of Tripoli. He looked to the countryside with a restless, hungry look. Fidgeting his fingers within the sleeves of his coat, chewing his bottom lip. The man did not like to sit still for long, and was burning with a need to be about in the world.

Burly Greek sailors lowered it down, and one remained to row you to the shore. You had foregone horses to better land close to Antioch, but Orlando had sent along a letter to a relation in the city for steeds to be provided once they were in, reimbursed with a letter of credit to be turned in to the local Templar chapter house. It was a convenient system the Templars had arranged, a network that allowed the fast transfer of goods and coin. Orlando found it quite impressive, and had attempted to educate you on its proper function during the journey, pausing only to engage in bouts of vomiting. Whether from the lack of wine of the rolling of the deck upon the sea you couldn't say.

All of your travel gear was packed into the craft. As lowest ranked you were the pack mule for this journey, and you wore it like a second set of armour. A pack upon your back, slung from your shoulder, hanging on your chest. You must have looked a walking luggage. You tipped and staggered when you walked. Only Hector kept you upright, and after helping Orlando onto the beach he turned to help you.

Raymond forged ahead to the top of the beach, slapping his thighs, as you and the others waded out of the knee high water. He pointed to Antioch.

"There we have it, the jewel of the Levant," he said. You came to stand with him, to admire the city.

Truly it was larger than Jerusalem, and prettier to with its low mountain range upon its back, the tiled roofs a burned orange, the distant peak of the great church, and the waters of Orontes curling up beside it like a long, blue snake. Raymond thumped you on the shoulder, and started up toward the Roman road that would carry on to the city.

The rest of you followed after, you stumbling with your load, Orlando ginger from his poor health.

A parade of road born pilgrims and travelers that you were forced to join. Behind a fat man on a mule, his equally fat but barefoot wife, and their three fat children, one of whom nursed a babe. They were Franks, or at least European, but they spoke no tongue you knew when the fat man tried to make conversation.

"Occitan peasants," Orlando looked upon them with mild revulsion.

It was not just them, but dark burned Greeks and hairy, pale Slavs that filled the road. Hairy Easterners that clucked to each other in alien tongues. The likes of the Bulgars and Poles that had made their way down to this blessed city, Christian no doubt but their strange dress excited in you a sense of heathen birth. Women as black as Sabeen with men folk just the same stood with tanned Cyprians and bronzed Egyptians, waiting for a chance to be admitted into the walls and admire the places of saints and martyrs.

"Shall we wait with the riff and the raff," Raymond asked you, "Or make to the head of the line as our station demands?" To that he touched his sword and grinned.

> wait
> cut to the front of the line

> cut to the front of the line

We're knights and nobles, not a bunch of dirtscrabblers.

I've always been a fan of the rehashed 18th century ship of the line style combat, though the grognard in me has a hard on for the millions of kilometer distance engagements and relativistic engagements.

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>>44313203

snoop into your players personal background, noting the kind of subjects of knowledge or experience they have, and find an answer they could figure out on their own

>>44313365
This. Plus, what I like to do is give them plenty of time to solve it and not make it an immediate "We gotta solve this RIGHT NOW" type of riddle. I make it something they can think on for a few sessions.

>>44313203
Make it an X of Y thing, so if one or two are complete hangups for some reason, it can still progress.

>>44312372

Because humanity fuck ye---

>without verging into the brainless dickwaving of HFY?

Because bad writing

>>44312372
Because the worst of human eating stuff is rare, while the more common things can be dispatched by numbers, clever planning, or just overpowering it.

They are still few, and there are still inviduals - and groups of inviduals who are capable of caving their skulls in.
Plus, predators still require prey. They might choose to keep healthy population, or starve.
Or subsist on something else.

Because Magic isn't tied into Warcraft and it's fucking terrible lore.

>>44312318
Hearthstone is literally pay to win innit?

>>44312318
MTGO client is shit. Cockatrice is full of shitters. Maybe xmage is OK but I've never used it.

Hearthstone is babbies first casual.

Pick your poison.

>>44311931

With a job. Because I'm not poor.

>>44311931
I do work in return for currency.

>>44312590
>>44312646
My question was more intended as "What kind of jobs does /tg/ have?"

Though you continue to know nothing about it, it is not to say that Leigh and her companions are not doing important things all the way in Neir.

Awaiting an audience with Queen Eva, the members of Leigh's group have the pleasure of crossing paths with none other than prince Cargia and lord Welles. Word is they're fresh off a cousinly exhibition duel. Welles ended up emerging victorious, due to Cargia's continued refusal to use anything but axes.

After that conversation ends, Ansi is still swept up into following them around, as is a cautious Clint.

"Why're you following 'em around?" Clint asks, somewhat suspicious during a pause in ensuing idle conversation.

"Plenty of reason to be in good with the queen's son and nephew," Ansi whispers back.

Yulea, Yancy, and Leigh continue idly hanging around each other as well.

"Hey, didn't you say Zoe's sister had returned?" Yancy asks Leigh.

"Er, Monique... Monica, even. Yeah, princess Shea and the rest of them brought her back to Rakche." Leigh remarks, remembering earlier expositions. "Why?"

"I dunno, just... Wondered if she'd appreciate the company. Family friends, you know."

"How would Monica recognize you if she can't remember anything?" Yulea asks.

"One way to find out."

So while Ansi and Clint tag along with nobles, Leigh, Yulea, and Yancy head to the abode of the Falcoknight-turned-Maid.

>A. Be Ansi
>B. Be Leigh
>C. Be Yulea
>D. Be Yancy

(20 minute decision time)

>>44310357
>B. Be Leigh

>>44310357
>B. Be Leigh

And it was a female doing the groping, I forgot to add that.

Smite her
She is clearly evil

>>44310311
>With his cock